In a Time of Ignorence and a Land of Change
by Tutankhamunfreak
Summary: Merlin has long awaited the return of King Arthur but he knows that he must live out his days in secret. Over time he has been forgotten but now he must be remembered when a strange barge appears in the Lake of Avalon. But over time he has not been the only thing forgotten and he and Arthur must fight to save not only magic but perhaps even time itself... Please R&R!
1. Chapter 1

**This is very naughty of me since I promised myself that I wouldn't put up any new stories that weren't one shots until my other ones were finished but this has been hanging about now for an age and I finally gave in. i hope you enjoy this because the ending to Merlin was not to my satisfaction either. I mean, how much fun could they have had with telling Arthur that Merlin had magic earlier in the show? And who on earth decided that Gwaine needed to die? I hate that person.**

**Anyway i wrote this story for everyone who wanted something after they left it at an inopportune moment since I want them to make another episode for Arthur to come back (how dare they make Merlin carry on waiting). So here is my version of what will happen when Arthur returns. Hope you like it!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin. BBC does.**

* * *

It had always been said that King Arthur would return again. No-one knew when or how. They just knew it like a dog can sense a storm or the birds can sense the winter approaching. It was one of the most well-known facts of life that no one questioned it. But the one most vital question was never asked. What had happened to the one who had been most faithful, most subservient and valiant? What had happened to Merlin?

If that question had ever been answered the person who had asked would have wrinkled their nose in disgust and shouted to the poor answer-er that they were mad. Who would have thought that the most powerful warlock in history, the man who was eternal, would live in a tiny shack by a lake near Glastonbury? Certainly not the 'true' believers. They imagined him to have accumulated a certain amount of money over the years, spent it on a grand house and lived his life in luxury whilst waiting for the king's return. The tiny shack was the last place that anyone would look.

It was well known that Marvin was mad. Those who lived in the area would look at him fondly and say things like "Good old Marvin! He's come to give some poor soul their tincture." Or, "Look, there's Marvin! What words of wisdom has he got for us today?" These so-called 'words of wisdom' were never listened to but the townsfolk always thought to humour him. They never would have truly sussed out who he really was from the way that he acted or talked. He was just Mad Old Marvin, reliable to always be strange and live as the village hermit. But those who had been to his shack would have known at once that he was not all that he seemed to be.

The shack, for reasons known only to Marvin, was situated right on the edge of the lake. Marvin never went to Glastonbury to buy food or drink. Anything he needed he grew or got from the lake. It wasn't unusual to see him sitting on the edge of the lake, a rusty metal bucket at his side, singing at the top of his voice as he held a rickety fishing pole out in the lake. No one ever knew what he was singing, though, since he always sang in another language which everyone who wasn't Welsh thought was Welsh. The shack looked dilapidated on the outside and seemed to lean in on itself. The roof sagged and the walls seemed to be slowly sinking into the ground. It was the kind of house you might have imagined that the Bucket family once lived in before moving to Willy Wonka's factory. Of course only one person was in residence here and the inside was completely contradictory to the outside.

Inside the shack was actually rather spacious. There was a comfortable bed set against one wall, opposite which was a window. Next to the bed was a wardrobe and a chest of drawers had been pushed between the bed and the third wall. A stove was set up underneath the window so that any fumes would instantly leave the building instead of floating around inside. Running through the middle of the building was a long workbench, on which stood a variety of vials and test-tubes filled with a variety of multi-coloured liquids. These were the tinctures that Marvin gave out and were known both for being amazingly effective and notoriously foul. The entire third wall was taken up with a bookshelf stacked with dozens of books, each shelf having three rows deep of books at least. How Marvin could find the book that he wanted was a mystery to all. Finally, hanging from the rafters of the shack was a variety of things. Herbs, spices, dried game, buckets, cooking utensils plus many more stranger things like old swords (hilt nearest the ground), bows, kindling and a crossbow. There were cupboards along the window wall and one either side of the door which contained jars of pickled foods and jams and a whole cupboard filled with cold meat and ice. In the corner to the left of the door was a myriad of things lent up against the wall as if there was no room for them to go anywhere else. These things consisted of staffs, rakes, brooms, spades, pitchforks and even a couple of spears although what Marvin ever used them for was the continued mystery. But as said before, not many people ever did visit Mad Old Marvin and that was how he liked it.

The way of life in the town wasn't ever really disturbed by the existence of Marvin. Every so often he would leave for a bit and then he would return months later and carry on his existence in his shack. Many would have been surprised to have learnt that every year, without fail, a Marvin Emeryson would turn up in the Camelain Hotel in Winchester (which happened to be a five-star extremely desired hotel. It was once said that even the Queen sometimes couldn't get in with the number of celebrities who wanted to be known to stay in the hotel). How he managed to get the placement every year was known only to the people in the Reception desk who knew that he would spend the three weeks that he stayed there in the old medieval ruins of the castle and gave good tips to all of the staff. He was, after all, a generous man. For the rest of the few months a mysterious, yet wealthy, grandson of the name Michael Emeryson would then take in the old man and people wouldn't see him for a week, although his grandson only ever seemed to leave the estate when his grandfather was at home although since his skin was so pale, it seemed obvious to everyone as to why he would get kicked out of the house. No one ever thought to ask as to whether the estate was ever empty.

So it was a day like no other when everything changed for everyone. Many would remember it as the day that a boat was seen floating in the lake, a boat that was more of an ancient row-boat than the modern engine powered boats used by the local fishermen. Not that there was anything worth catching in the river (apart from whatever it was that Marvin ate). No-one knew where the boat had come from or who was in the boat, if anyone at all. It had just suddenly appeared, the Glastonbury Tor throwing a rather romantic backdrop to the entire affair. What really made the day different was how Marin reacted to it. Anyone who bothered to go by his house that day would have seen him, as usual, sitting by the bank of the river, fishing pole in hand, waiting for his next catch. What made this day different to any other was that Marvin was not singing. He was not spitting out wonderful lines of fantasy, or being his usual eccentric self. In fact the fishing pole was practically lying in his lap, all but forgotten. Marvin was just staring out across the water murmuring, "At last. At last."

Of course no one knew what this meant and a small police boat was sent out to see what the boat contained. A great panic ensued when it was realized that within the boat was the body of a young man, barely breathing, but, thankfully, alive. Ambulances and paramedics were called out to the scene and the man was rushed to the nearest hospital. Reporters, historians, journalists and a great many tourists appeared, all clamoring to see the miraculous young man who had appeared dressed in medieval gear. No one knew who the man was (no on thought to ask Marvin) and no one noticed for a long time the mysterious disappearance of Marvin. Smoke disappeared from his chimney, the cupboards within the house had been emptied and any evidence of anyone having lived there vanished overnight. By the time the police noticed this, the hype for the young man had died down. He had not woken once within a week and no one knew what was wrong with him.

There were inquiry's of course. Just because no one from Glastonbury knew who the young man was, that didn't mean that no one from the surrounding areas knew who he was. The results came up with a blank. Around this same time, a young man appeared in Glastonbury, apparently having just acquired the rather large estate that hadn't been bought for nearly fifty years by the river. Part of this estate included Marvin's old cottage but the young man claimed to never have known the man. No one questioned him and the town waited with baited breath for the man to wake. Little did they know what was to ensue from this coming forth of a boat but the mysterious newcomer knew exactly what it meant. And if you had looked carefully, the young man bared a strange younger resemblance towards Mad Old Marvin. But of course no one looked and no one asked.


	2. Chapter 2

**Ok, so it's been a wile since I updated this and I do have a reason! Ok, so what happened was that I have everything backed up on my memory stick which I take everywhere. I happen to borrow my friend's laptop in school sometimes to write new parts of my fanfiction when I'm feeling particularly creative however I accidently lost my memory stick in school and subsequently lost most of this chapter. Not to worry as I found my memory stick and I have FINALLY been able to finish this. Yey!**

**Anyway, I'm sure you don't want to listen to me blabber on about how devastated I was to lose my memory stick and want to get on with the story. So here it is!**

**Disclaimer: Don't kill me, cos I always do this. I don't own Merlin, the BBC does although they need to make something of the ending of Merlin because I am totally not happy with how it ended!**

* * *

A pair of bright blue eyes blinked blearily open. The wide lips opened with a cough and an inhalation of breath as if from a dying man. A rasp came from the back of the throat and the man suddenly jolted upright within the bed. The blue eyes roved around the room wildly, looking for anything that might seem familiar. The round shaped object hanging on the wall made no sense and there were slivers of metal behind the glass that moved seemingly of their own accord The room was painted a blinding white but it was obvious that whatever held this building up was not the usual stone or wood that the man in question was used to. And the bed was smaller. A lot smaller and stranger than the stranger was used to.

A small balding man entered the room a smile upon his face. The stranger stared at the man, trying to process whatever the needle (that was quite clearly not a sewing needle) that was stuck in his hand was for and why there was a strange clear pipe that attached it to a clear bag. The stranger didn't even know what clothes the doctor wore were and everything was as strange as the first few bewildering moments of consciousness. Unbeknownst to the stranger the balding man who had entered the room was his doctor and the clipboard in his hand was not a torture device.

"Hello. How are you feeling?" the balding man said. The stranger stared at him. None of the words that had left the man's mouth had made any sense. There was a strange familiarity to them but nothing that would put them into a normal sentence to the man, nothing that would spell out what the man had said. It took the doctor a few moments to realise that the young man in the bed didn't have a clue as to what he was saying.

"Your name?" he asked slowly. The veil of confusion was still firmly in place, a burning determination sparking in his eyes. The doctor wracked his brains for a moment as to how to make the man understand him. Then he placed one hand on his chest. "Bernard," the doctor said. He then gestured towards the young man in the bed, indicating that he wished to know his name. There was a pause.

"Arthur." The answer was short, abrupt. It was clear that Arthur did not trust the man in front of him.

"Arthur," the doctor-Bernard- repeated, raising his eyebrows. Of course. The man found in a medieval barge, dressed in medieval armour (however more advanced than they had originally thought), would be named Arthur. If this were to go out the public would jokingly name him King Arthur, a truth that the doctor was unaware of. It took the doctor a few brief moments to decide that this would stay private. So he chose a simple word, placing the clipboard by the side of the bed. The stranger flinched away from it. "Safe." The man blinked up at him. "Safe," the doctor repeated.

"S-Sa-fe?" the man asked. The doctor noted how the word seemed alien within the man's mouth, his forehead creasing in concentration. The doctor nodded.

"Safe."

Both the doctor and the young man jumped as there was a sudden knock on the door. A young nurse popped her head around the door, smiling as she realised that the rather good looking stranger in the bed was awake. But she was a professional and knew better than to try and get off with her patients.

"There's a Mr Emeryson asking after an Arthur Pendragon? He says that he's under your care?" There was a questioning note in her voice almost masked by her amusement. A garble of language left the young man's mouth, the tone of voice demanding.

"I'll see to him in a moment June," Bernard said carefully. June gave another smile and disappeared. Bernard turned back to the young man. It was clear that he had heard and at least understood part of that sentence.

"What is it?" The young man stared at him a moment but it was clear that his intelligent mind had worked out what he had said. The man pointed to himself.

"Arthur Pendragon." Bernard felt his eyebrows rise. Now this was concerning. Why would there suddenly be a man who knew who this man was but had failed to come forward before? And what was with the King Arthur name? Probably a joke on the parent's part, poor guy.

"I'll be back in five minutes. Five minutes." The young man nodded, clearly understanding. He leant back in the bed as Bernard left the room.

* * *

Bernard felt a heavy sense of concern for the man in the room behind him. He was most certainly young, barely out of his teenage years, early-twenties he would say. And yet he gave off the demeanour of someone much older, as if he had been thrust into some kind of position of power far too young. It seemed strange to think that there was any chance that he might actually be someone of importance since no one had come forward to claim that they knew him. No, he had to be someone of little importance to the world no matter what kind of presence he gave off.

That didn't mean that Bernard was extremely cautious of the man he was going to see now. After all he may have had to travel a long way, judging by the fact that 'Arthur' was most certainly foreign. Bernard didn't know what language he was speaking but it sounded European, maybe even Gaelic. He could be from Germany perhaps, or maybe even Russia with his blonde hair and blue eyes. Whoever this newcomer was. Bernard was sure that if he did not sound genuine he would be turned away.

Bernard turned the corner into the reception area and froze. There was a young man sitting in the waiting area, all black hair and blue eyes but something seemed… off about him. It wasn't a bad sense that Bernard was getting, but it certainly wasn't anything he was used to. The man was younger than Arthur and had a pair of rather large ridiculous ears which stuck out under his black hair which reached the nape of his neck. Bernard thought that it did little to cover up the fact that his ears were so large but the man didn't seem to care. He was regarding the reception area with a certain amount of interest, as if he were bemused by what he saw, but his eyes were far too old, far too sad, for his young face. And then those fathomless blue eyes settled on him. The man stood up abruptly and Bernard, who was not the tallest man in the world, was shocked at how thin the man was. He was as skinny as a rake and, although Bernard could see that the man had probably always been naturally lanky, it was of a scale where he might not have gotten enough food or good food considering he was extremely pale.

"Dr Saunders? My name is Michael Emeryson. I'm looking for a friend of mine." The man seemed to be trustworthy, his eyes shining with hope and an overwhelming honest trust in the man before him. Bernard found himself instantly liking the man although he sounded as if he came from Wales or even Ireland.

"Call me Bernard. Now I hear you're after our mystery man?" If this man was genuine, which he seemed to be, he would know exactly who he was talking about. Mr Emeryson's eyes lit up.

"Yes! Arthur! I've been looking for him everywhere! We were at this medieval festival at Glastonbury when he just disappeared. I was worried about him especially when it came out on the news that a man had been found in a barge!" There was genuine concern in Mr Emeryson's voice and an overwhelming relief that he had been found. Bernard smiled. There was nothing fake about the man before him.

"Well, I can be happy to tell you that he is completely fine, nothing much wrong with him at all. Unless you count the fact that he doesn't speak a word of English." Bernard watched Mr Emeryson's face as this information went in. Nothing changed except that his eyes seemed to glow brighter with happiness. He seemed to be laughing on the inside, his eyes dancing with light.

"Well that's concerning. We've come all the way from Wales but I'm pretty certain that he can speak English passably. Then again, Arthur was never one to concentrate on his school work." Mr Emeryson flashed him a smile. "Can I see him?"

Bernard gave him a smile back. "Of course." He gestured for the young man to follow him, always keeping an eye on him though. After all, you couldn't be too careful with anyone who was a stranger. Bernard had dealt with media cases before and didn't want Arthur to feel overwhelmed by the sudden appearance of journalists at his door.

Michael, on the other hand, didn't seem to notice, or if he did, then he didn't care. His eyes wandered, taking in every detail of the hospital and the bemused smiled never left his face. The glitter in his fathomless eyes didn't fade throughout the entire journey and when they reached the room, they only seemed to glow brighter. Bernard wondered if it was him or the lighting but Michael's eyes were almost glowing… gold. He shook it off as a trick of the light.

Bernard pushed the door open and stood to one side to let Michael in. Arthur was still sitting in the bed, looking for all the world as if he were _pouting_. Bernard barely had time to wonder at this as Michael let out a sound somewhere between a cough and a laugh. Arthur's head twisted round and his eyes bulged in surprise. Bernard watched as the man's jaw worked for a minute or two before,

"MERLIN!"

Bernard jumped at the explosion of sound from the previously quiet young man. Michael didn't seem to be able to contain himself anymore and burst into laughter as the man shouted and raved in a garble of words that Bernard could make neither heads nor tails of. When the raging fit seemed to be over (and Michael had finished sniggering under his breath), Michael answered him in the same language, seeming to be giving him some sort of calming explanation. Arthur blinked a couple of times and then frowned. He spat something else and Michael answered him again, still calm. The conversation carried on in this way until Michael finally turned back to Bernard.

"Arthur would like to go home now, if that's all right with you?" Although the statement was framed as a question, Bernard got the feeling that Arthur would be leaving anyway. He sighed. It was true that Arthur seemed to be familiar with this man, although there still seemed to be something off.

"He called you Merlin. I thought you told me your name was Michael?" Bernard said suspiciously, evading the question for now. He couldn't shake off that feeling that this man meant trouble, even though he seemed nice enough.

"It's a joke. My last name contains 'Emrys' in it which was the druidic name for Merlin and his name is Arthur Pendragon. He started to call me that when we were kids because he couldn't pronounce Michael and the name stuck. It's a nickname between friends." Michael smiled.

"Where will you be taking him?" Bernard asked.

"Home."

"And where is that?"

"Well, at the moment we're staying in my grandfather's mansion. He's out of town for the moment and he's kindly letting us stay there for now."

"And when he returns?"

"Then I and Arthur will probably head home to Wales, to his own home. Is that alright?" Michael's eyes seemed to flash a warning, hinting that this line of questioning would get him nowhere. Bernard felt something almost like fear of the man in front of him. There had been nothing threatening neither in the man's posture, nor in his voice and yet the only thing that even vaguely made him look dangerous at the moment was his eyes. It was as if there was a great power underneath the gangly image of a young man.

"Th-That's fine," Bernard stuttered, suddenly wanting to leave the room. "I'll go get the paperwork and some clothes for Arthur to leave in." Michael smiled and sent him a friendly wave. Bernard didn't turn to see it. In fact, he had almost forgotten all about Arthur Pendragon and his smiling, overly-cheerful friend.


End file.
